


The walls are empty it's so ugly I could burn the whole place down

by trying_to_spell_both_our_names_at_once



Series: Sweet Hibiscus Tea [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bittersweet, But not for that long?, Gen, Running Away, Suicidal Thoughts, Toby Smith | Tubbo Misses TommyInnit, Tommy runs away and builds a tree house and gains a lot of emotional support animals, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Misses Toby Smith | Tubbo, and honestly?, good for him, they're best friends your honor, very brief though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trying_to_spell_both_our_names_at_once/pseuds/trying_to_spell_both_our_names_at_once
Summary: Tommy liked living on his own terms. A lot really.But when he's exiled he finds that he has very little choice of what happens to him and what he does. One day he decides fuck it, let's run away.Sometimes all it takes to heal is a treehouse, a mushroom cow, and the ability to take life into your own hands.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Series: Sweet Hibiscus Tea [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060475
Comments: 101
Kudos: 1257





	The walls are empty it's so ugly I could burn the whole place down

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember if Tommy ever named the Mooshroom cow he has and I'm way too lazy to check so I named him Harold. Please roll with it lol. I wrote this in about an hour and then only lightly edited it so fingers crossed I didn't miss anything that bad lol

Tommy liked living on his own terms. A lot really. 

Hopelessness wasn’t something he liked to feel a lot, so often he just chose not to. When he was exiled he let Wilbur talk him into hope, let his older brother convince him that they would fix this and get back to the place they called home. When Wilbur started going insane Tommy ignored it, pretended like everything was fine and that even if things were going wrong Wilbur was still his brother, and he could use that. Wilbur wouldn’t hurt him. Tommy believed that with all his heart and it hurt like hell when he was proven wrong. But Tommy just kept smiling and pushed everything else down because he wouldn’t let that be the snapping point. 

Tubbo exiled him once again and this time there was no Wilbur to convince him that he was okay. All he had was the ghost of his brother who occasionally showed up and the very person who got Tommy into this mess in the first place. 

Tommy liked living on his own terms. But the longer time went on the more he realized that he wasn’t allowed to anymore. 

He couldn’t be a kid. That’s what got him into this mess. He couldn’t want his discs back because that made him selfish and a horrible friend. He couldn’t stay in the nation he helped build. He couldn’t see his best friend. He couldn’t keep his armor and supplies. He couldn’t even die when he wanted to. 

Tommy had nothing left. He had a wobbly tent and a half-formed base, a compass that pointed him somewhere he’d never be able to go, and his own thoughts. So really, nothing at all. And he would continue to have nothing for a very long time. 

Dream came by every day to taunt him. And then to help him. 

It made no sense, the rules and expectations constantly shifting and changing before he could blink and he didn’t understand anything. Dream was blowing up his stuff one moment and calling them friends the next and Tommy had no choice but to believe him. 

Who else was there anyways? If he rejected Dream, if he pushed him away and accepted that what he was doing was wrong then Tommy would be alone. Truly alone. 

He wanted to go home. He wanted Tubbo here. He wanted Wilbur back and not the insane Wilbur who ranted and raved and made Tommy want to start crying in fear. He wanted normalcy. But he hadn’t had that in so long that he wasn’t sure he’d ever get it back. 

And maybe that was fine. Maybe this was his new normal. His life dictated by those around him, no free will and no options left. He was exiled and yet Dream was the one who picked his location, who pointed him where to go and made sure Tommy was always in sight. 

The loneliness kept creeping in. Long nights spent alone, staring out into the dark sky and almost hoping a mob would come and get him. It would be a lot more peaceful that way. But they never do and Tommy always wakes up and repeats the exact same day over and over again. 

All he had was his music disc, his compass, and the silence. The silence grated on his ears even when his discs were playing. The absence of anyone else talking, the nothingness that surrounded his voice. The way it fell flat every time he talked to himself, no one and nothing for the sound to bounce off of. 

Tommy had never felt more hopeless in his life. There was nothing he could do; he was stuck here on this shitty island with Dream for company and no way to get home or do anything but sludge through the day. 

It was enough to send him spiraling, to make him stare longingly at bubbling lava and forget meals more often than he should. It’s enough for him to imagine people coming to visit him, to create characters that love him and will talk to him. 

It’s pathetic and sad and there’s nothing he can fucking do about it because he has no choice. No say. No power. 

So Tommy did what he knew best. He took his circumstances and decided fuck it, he would make this work. 

He cataloged all his problems one night, writing down everything that made him want to scream and never stop. It was a disturbingly long list, but he also felt like he was being dramatic. 

Tubbo betrayed him. Tubbo probably hated him. Dream was sometimes his friend sometimes his enemy but most just hurt him. At night all he could hear was Wilbur’s voice ringing in his ears and feel his too tight grip on his hands. When he slept he dreamed about blood and fireworks and the hissing of TNT. He was exiled. He was alone. 

Well, if he was being honest there wasn’t much he could do about any of that. The hopelessness seeps back in. 

He decided to cross it off item after item. He liked lists, they gave him order, a way to settle the racing of his mind and attempt to keep it on track. 

Tubbo betrayed him. Tubbo hated him. 

Well, Tommy brought that onto himself anyways. Betrayal seemed to be a constant thing in his life, friends and family all stabbing him in the back whenever they could. He wasn’t sure why he was such a magnet to betrayal, but if he thought about it for longer than five minutes he would start to scream. So without somehow finding a way to travel back in time and somehow fix things with his friend, there was no getting out of that. 

Maybe Tubbo didn’t want him to fix things either. No matter how much Tommy clutched his compass, the ache never got better. 

Dream was sometimes his friend sometimes his enemy but mostly just hurt him. 

Again, not much he could do about that. Dream was stronger than him, he had power and resources and the jurisdiction that Tommy lacked. Even if he wanted to rebel in any way, Tommy knew all it took was one swing from his sword and it would be over. His last life lost. Not that it would matter much anyways, Tommy isn’t really that worried about death at this point. It would at least be a change of routine. 

Sometimes Tommy didn’t even want Dream to go, because his mocking laughs and taunts were better than nothing, and when Dream gifted him something or helped him out Tommy would feel appreciated and welcomed for the first time in ages and for a second he would think maybe it was okay, just the two of them. 

At night all he could hear was Wilbur’s voice ringing in his ears and feel his too tight grip on his hands. When he slept he dreamed about blood and fireworks and the hissing of TNT.

Tommy had been searching for a way to stop that for ages even before his exile. He had accepted it wasn’t going away anytime soon. He just stops sleeping. 

He was exiled. He was alone. 

Tommy loved his friends more than anything. He liked to think he was characterized by his loyalty, by knowing that he would tear down anything to protect his friends. It got a bit meaningless knowing that they clearly wouldn’t do the same. The loneliness was killing him. No one to talk to, no one to bounce off of and entertain. They had tossed him away and laughed while they did it, shaking their heads and muttering about how it was all his fault. 

Bullshit. All of it bullshit. Tommy fought their wars for them, agreed to be vice president for them, and they did nothing but treat him like trash. They forced him to be a hero and then threw him away like a villain. They toss him to the side and never visited, leaving him to wither away into nothingness. 

Well, maybe Tommy could do something about that. The loneliness wasn’t going to ever go away. He understood that now. Tubbo and Dream would never let him back in. They forced him to be lonely. 

But when Wilbur and him were exiled, they took it and turned it into something useful. When Wilbur went insane Tommy fought on. When Techno betrayed them Tommy kept moving, put his head up high and pretended it never happened. When the world was crumbling around him he stuck his hands into the dirt and formed it into something useful. 

Tubbo and Dream forced him to be alone, sitting here wasting away with no choice. Well screw that. Tommy was taking this into his own hand, he was getting himself out of here and no one could stop him. 

Maybe he couldn’t go back to L’Manburg. That’s fine. (It isn’t.) He can make something else up. Dream had left him here and told him to stay, but technically he just wasn’t allowed anywhere where the others were. He was expected to stay here, but there wasn’t a rule against leaving. As long as he stayed away from the place he called home. 

So fuck it. 

It was a rainy day when he finally decides to do it, when he knows this is the best option. 

For some reason he doesn’t want to go. He knows that if he leaves now he’s giving up on all hope that maybe one day things will get better. That one day Tubbo would visit. That one day he could go home. 

He thinks back to the past weeks. No one but Dream and occasionally some of the others came to visit. And they never really seemed that into it, bar maybe Ranboo. He would miss Ranboo. 

He couldn’t pretend any longer, not when every day he spent hoping led him one step closer to the edge of the lava pit. 

They chose loneliness for him, but Tommy was taking it back. He would make this his own decision. 

He packs light, enough food to last him at least a month, and some basic iron armor and tools. He has Phil’s gifted slippers on his feet and Ghostbur’s gifted compass lying heavy on his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind. 

He walks to the portal first, grabbing the mail that Ranboo left him. Ranboo hadn’t been back yet to write another letter, but Tommy knew he would feel bad if he left without telling Ranboo. 

It’s a short letter, the bare minimum and nowhere close to what Ranboo deserves, but Tommy’s eyes are already starting to become glazed over with tears and it’s embarrassing. One had landed on the paper and he circles it, claiming it started to rain. Which wasn’t a lie, since it was raining, but he was also shaded from the downpour by a tree. Whatever. It didn’t matter anyways. 

Having that over and done with he shoulders his pack and stares at his little tent, looking so depressing in the downpour. Even his makeshift Christmas tree looked so sad. 

It was time to go. If he thought longer he would stay. 

A part of him wanted to. A part of him whispered that this wouldn’t be worth it, that he was fine here with no one but Dream for company. That he was overreacting and everything would be fine. But Tommy knew that if he believed that and it didn’t come true, then that would be it. He would lose it. He thinks he would burn. 

He turns and swallows his tears, placing a hand on the portal and closing his eyes. 

“Bye Tubbo,” He whispers. He knew he would never see his best friend again. By leaving he was giving up that chance. And maybe that was okay. Maybe this was the best for both of them. Him leaving was the best thing for L’Manburg, the best thing for his friend. By staying and holding on he was doing nothing but hurting himself. 

A part of him screamed, telling him to stay, to not give up on his best friend. It went against everything he knew, to willingly give up and walk away from those he loved. But his mind was made up. 

He let out a single sob, pretending the tears racing down his face were from the rain. He turned and started to walk away. 

Then he heard the moo. 

Oh god. How could he forget? 

His feet are moving without him even realizing it, and he’s in Logstedshire, staring at the mooshroom cow that was staring at him with wide understanding eyes. 

Tommy had tried not to get attached to this thing, had refused to accept this thing as a pet. But come on, it was just so cute. And if he left it behind who would feed it? Ghostbur couldn’t and Dream probably didn’t care enough. Ranboo and the others didn’t come around often enough. And besides, the thing was a pretty good source of food in case things got dicey.

Fuck. Tommy rolled his eyes and reached out, grabbing the lead and heading to the door, the cow following with a happy sounding moo. 

“Yeah yeah,” Tommy grumbled. “You better not slow me down got it? I will not hesitate to ditch you in the middle of nowhere.” 

It was an empty threat, the way the cow head-butted his side told him that the cow knew it too. 

Tommy doesn’t look back this time, walking into the storm as the rain pounded around him, his only company the cow by his side. 

To anyone else it would probably look extremely depressing, a thin worn-out teen drenched in rain, walking away from everything he knew with only an animal. 

But for the first time in a very long time, Tommy finally felt free. 

___________________________________________________

It was a long walk. A very long walk. 

He wasn’t sure where he was going, didn’t really have many plans other than get away. It had been a week of walking so far, and his feet were killing him, his slippers almost worn through already. He didn’t care. Every time he stopped, even just to eat, he felt overwhelmed as his brain screaming at him to keep moving. So he did. 

He walked across sand and through forests, even encountering the tundra at some point. That was probably the worst. The ice-cold snow beating down at him, shivering in his flimsy jacket and armor, fingers going numb as he stumbled through the cold, his cow -who he affectionally named Harold- gently pushing him whenever he stopped. 

He walked day and night, barely stopping to rest or to eat. He knew this was dangerous, and that eventually he would stop functioning, but for now it was fine. He was fine. Dream had kept whispering to him on the second day, demanding to know where he was and threatening to kill Tommy if he didn’t say. Tommy just took off his communicator and tucked it into his pocket. He hadn’t looked at it since. 

He remembered when Tubbo and him wanted to run away. Find a cottage in the woods and settle down, just the two of them. He thinks he should have agreed, knowing how things have gone to shit since then. They would have been happy he thinks. Just the two of them, a bee farm, some potatoes, and wide-open empty space for them to run around in. 

But that time is over, and now it’s Tommy turn to find a place for himself without his best friend by his side. 

It’s kind of weird, this entire thing. It’s the first time in his life that he’s ever been this alone. Well, if you ignore the time he spent on the street before Phil took him in. But Tommy was really young then, and those memories are warped and faded. When he thinks back on that time all he can recall is fear and hunger and the urge to run. He likes to think it felt like this. 

But there’s no Phil to save him now, no Technoblade and Wilbur to lure him in with smiles and the promise of learning to fight. No one knew where he was, and he was on his own. 

But this time it was his own choice. He decided this, he picked this. And somehow that made it so much better. 

He had fought for freedom, for independence, but somehow finding it by himself was so much sweeter. 

It takes him two and a half weeks to find the perfect place. Tommy isn’t sure how far he’s gone, but he knows that no one will find him here. They would have expected him to have given up ages ago. He expected it for himself too. No one was shocked more than him when he kept stumbling along. 

He finds a jungle and knows this is the place. He laughs as he stares at it, placing down a fence and attaching Harold to it. He isn’t sure why he bothers; he knows the cow wouldn’t go far either way. 

He grabs his pickaxe and starts his construction. He misses having Tubbo at his back, the two of them trading jokes as they chipped away at the rock.

It’s long and it’s boring and he gives up around five times, but a week later he’s pretty much done with it and he would want nothing else. 

In the jungle he made a treehouse, because why the hell not? It was made out of jungle wood with ugly cobblestone floors and its sort of lopsided and he wasn’t able to get the dimensions quite right, but he likes it. It’s high up with multiple floors and he isn’t sure why he wanted so much space or what in the world he’ll use it for, but he’s got plenty of time to figure it out. Almost two broken bones later he perfects swinging and climbing on the vines, letting out a whoop of joy every time he does it right and a shriek when he gets it wrong. He befriends some cats and soon his place is crawling with them even when he chases them away. 

Parrots fly through the air and squawk at him when he gets close, but he’s determined to get one of those fuckers to land on his arm at some point. So far he’s unsuccessful in anything except a dozen scratches on his limbs. 

The pandas are adorable and he spends an entire day blowing off his building in order to pet one. No regrets. 

On the plains right outside the jungle he builds a little stable and a farm. He builds an enclosure for Harold and gives him lots to eat, and eventually a few more cows join the farm as well. He leaves the gates open half the time, always entertained to see his numbers either grow or shrink with every passing day. Harold never leaves though, always found wandering nearby and mooing sadly whenever Tommy’s in the forest for too long. 

He gets some chickens and some sheep as well, a few pigs joining the count but they’re the flightiest of the bunch. One cat stays by his side day in and day out and he names her Clara. Unlike Harold, who normally headbutts him away from bad decisions, she edges him on, grinning with mischievous eyes. 

He plants some carrots and potatoes, remembering the way Techno taught him how to do it when he was ten and barely paying any attention. Its nowhere as good as his brothers, but it makes do. 

He plants all types of plants, creating a sustainable little farm and it’s the most boring thing ever but its also sometimes nice to get lost in the meaningless work sometimes. 

Within a month or two he has carved a little piece of paradise out for himself, swinging through the jungle and lounging in the plains. Harold is still his steady companion, and Tommy swears that cow has a mind of its own. Sometimes he’ll look at Tommy with a look that’s so human that it almost reminds him of Tubbo leveling an unimpressed glare at him. Clara does the same, and sometimes the way she hisses makes him think she’s laughing at him.

It’s lonely for sure. He thinks that maybe the loneliness will never go away. But he built this place, he created it and he’s proud of it. And maybe he doesn’t have his friends or family but he has his pets and maybe that’s enough. 

During the day he sits in a field and rambled to Harold, who lays his head on Tommy’s lap and sighs in contentment when Tommy scratched behind his ear. He tells Harold stories about Tubbo and his adventures. At night in his treehouse there’s always at least one cat that crawls up to use his warmth, and normally a bird or two will flap in through the open window to create problems. 

There’s no one here to yell at him or tell him he’s doing something wrong. He sometimes sets things on fire just for fun and laughs when the grass burns to nothing and no one can yell at him for ruining it. He never sets fire to the forest though, he thinks that might be a bit too far, even for him. 

He swings from trees and explores the area around him. He finds a jungle temple at one point and almost died multiple times but he was smiling and laughing the entire time, a sword in hand and a wonky helmet on his head. 

He finds cocoa beans and makes a small farm for them, becoming weirdly good at baking cookies. He experiments with cakes too, and they’re not very good but he knows Niki would be proud anyways. 

He misses them sometimes. Or all the time. 

He stares at his compass and dreams of following it, of packing up and going to see his friends again. He thinks about somehow sending them his coordinates and praying that they come and visit him. He wants to hear Tubbo’s laugh, hear Niki’s soft words, wants to fool around with Ranboo and Fundy and all of the others. Hell, he even misses Dream sometimes. 

When it gets really bad and he misses them so much it’s a physical ache in his chest he’ll start packing, shoving food and supplies into a bag with tears in his eyes. But he always stops halfway through, staring hard at what he’s created around him. He puts down the bag and goes to sit with Harold. 

Life moves on. The ache never leaves but it gets easier to live with. 

Sometimes his voice goes away from the lack of use, when he just trudges on without saying a word, no use to speaking when there was no one to hear. Other times he’ll spend all day talking, either to Harold, the other animals, or air. 

He makes some books and starts writing stories. He’ll think of the myths he only half remembers and does his best to create endings that would piss Techno off. Icarus becomes a merman under the sea who has a dolphin girlfriend, Theseus becomes a pirate, and Hercules owns a bar and regularly scams people out of their money. 

He tells stories about Clara the astronaut and the narrator lady to the nature around him, he makes up stories of pirates and shapeshifters, princes and princesses, girls made up of pumpkins and wood. He laughs at his own jokes as he scratches under a panda’s chin, and sings stupid jingles he thinks up as loud as he can because no one is around to hear him. 

He swings idly between not talking at all and doing nothing but talking and both of these options always end with a sore throat but it doesn’t matter, because every day he spends out here it gets easier and easier to smile. 

______________________________________________

A year passes without him ever really realizing it. His house now has four floors for no good reason. Each one looks different than the other in a way that Tommy knows Tubbo would laugh at but Tommy thinks it's visually pleasing. His farm has branched into almost every type of crop he can manage to find. There’s a village around three days away from his house and he sometimes goes over there to terrorize the locals. He thinks they’re secretly fond of him. 

His collection of animals he’s weirdly fond of grows by the day. Harold still loyally follows him around, although there was a scare a couple of months ago when he tried to follow Tommy into his treehouse and almost fell to his death. Tommy spent a week sleeping in the stable with him. 

Clara stays by his side too, sometimes even crawling up his shoulder to stay there even though she weighed almost a million pounds. She meowed encouragingly whenever he did something stupid and hisses whenever something hostile got too close. She cuddled with him at night and nuzzled into his neck whenever he cried. 

He figures out how to make clothes himself, and sews his clothes together whenever they get ripped with minimal swearing. (That’s a lie. He swears a lot. It’s not his fault the needle keeps poking him!) When the mobs manage to hurt him he stitches the wounds together and fumbles his way through making a healing potion. It isn’t very good and doesn’t fully work, but it gets the job done. 

He makes cookies and cakes and celebrates his friend’s birthdays even when he’s far away. He tries to catch birds and starts a panda farm. Everywhere he goes he has some sort of animal trailing after him, nipping at his heels and never leaving him alone. 

He swings from vines and climbs the tallest trees to watch the sunset with a jukebox by his side. He explores and he wanders and he builds things when he’s especially bored. 

He dedicates a month to creating a bee farm, carefully planting flowers and melting glass into panes in order to be able to see them. He names it “Tubbo’s Bee Farm” even though Tubbo wasn’t there. He goes there whenever he feels especially lonely, watching the buzzing bees with a compass in his hand and music playing faintly behind him. 

He documents his days even when they’re horrendously boring and his hands are now forever stained with ink and dirt, but he doesn’t mind. It’s better than being stained with blood and gunpowder. 

__________________________________________________

It’s been exactly a year and three months since he started building his new home. 

Tommy sit’s up on the highest tree close to his head and puts his jukebox on the leaves beside him. The sun is setting over the land and he sighs, smiling as he puts in one of his few discs and hums along to the music. 

Tommy had danced on the edge of a sword for many years. For the longest time that’s all he knew how to do. He knew how to fight, to loot things, and grief people houses. He grew up in war and never thought anything of it. He lived on the edge because if he stopped for a minute he didn’t know what else to do. 

But here he was, with a farm and a treehouse that looks horrible but he loves it. He has a chest dedicated to his stories and memories that he wrote down, and he refuses to call some of them diaries but that’s exactly what it is. 

Instead of spending his days causing trouble and disappointing everyone he knows, he farms and he explores. He sits and tells stories and workshops jokes while imagining people laughing around him. Some days hes quiet, some days he loud, but it doesn’t matter either way. 

No one is here to yell at him or tell him he’s doing things wrong. He can do anything and no one can tell him otherwise. His life is his own to live no matter how he wants to, and Tommy loves it. 

He hears the moan of a zombie under him and his hands stray to his belt, before he realized that he didn’t have his sword on him. 

He stares down at his toolbelt, blinking in surprise when he realizes it’s been months since he even picked up a sword or bow. He hasn’t felt the need to, since he was staying inside most of the nights and his house was a bit too far up for most mobs to bother. 

Well, that is if you ignore the great spider infestation that occurred four months ago. One disadvantage to having open windows. 

Tommy hates it but he starts to tear up. 

Crying has been something he had learned to do as well over the months. Before he felt like he couldn’t cry, having to put on a brave face and pretend that nothing ever got to him. Crying was weak, it was pathetic and anyone who saw him do that would pity him and think him ridiculous. 

But there was no one here except his animals, who did nothing but cuddle up to him when he sobbed. There was no one to judge him or tell him he was being weak. There was no being weak here because there was nothing to fight. 

Tommy had nothing to fight. 

He let out a wet laugh, tears starting to streak down his face. He felt giddy, sitting up on the leaves as the night turned darker. He could see for miles, up high enough that almost nothing escaped his sight. 

And for as far as Tommy could see, there was nothing to fight. 

He forgot what this felt like, being safe. No pressure to fight, to struggle to maintain an image and to inspire greatness to those around you. There was no one here, no one to fight. He looked down on his hands and realized the callouses on them had come from farming and creating, not from having a too tight grip on a weapon. His skin no longer knew the language of violence that they had been created in.

He stood up and laughed, throwing his arms out wide and spinning as he raised his face to the sky. 

There was no one to fight, and Tommy was free. 

_________________________________________

It had been two years since he left, and Tommy knelt in a pile of dirt as he pulled potatoes out of the ground. 

Behind him a herd of pigs are squealing and making a ruckus, rolling around in the puddle of mud that used to be Tommy’s carrot patch. He had created a better one a few days ago, and they seemed to be growing so much faster, which was nice. 

Harold and his pack of cows grazed a couple feet away, and Clara lounged to the side of him, chewing on a pumpkin stem no matter how many times he scolded her for it. 

He has a sizable pile of potatoes beside him, and he’s carefully rationing them and plotting out how to make them last until the next harvest in a month or so. His potatoes grow slow, but he doesn’t mind much. They’re easily the best of his crops. All that time in Pogtopia with Wilbur taught him how to make some mean potatoes recipes. 

He’s humming a tune he forgot the name too, but he’s pretty sure it was one Wilbur made up before he died. It’s catchy, he’s probably been singing it for a couple days now. He’s bopping his head along to the tune as his fingers dig in the dirt, completely disregarding how dirty he was getting. 

He could need to harvest the melons next; they were more than ripe. A couple of pumpkins too maybe. Some pumpkin pie sounds pretty fucking good at this point. 

Harold starts mooing excessively, not sounding quite in distress but more confused. Tommy chuckles a bit over how he seems to understand the different moos his cow makes. He tosses another potato on the pile, not even bothering to look up at him. 

“Harold, my man,” He calls out while reaching into his pocket and grabbing another seed to plant. “If Harvey is trying to eat your mushrooms again just smack him or somethin’. You’re the alpha male dude, act like it.” 

Harold lets out a particularly worried sounding moo and Tommy lets out a laugh, shaking his head. 

“You’re killing me man,” Tommy shook his head, moving onto the next crop. From beside him, Clara starts hissing, and he can feel her tense up. That worries him a bit more. 

“Clara?” He asks, frowning at the cat who was staring at where the cows were. “What’s wrong-“ 

He turns his head and sees someone standing at the top of the hill, staring at him with wide eyes. 

It has been two years since Tommy settled down here and even longer since he last set foot in L’Manburg or saw his best friend. 

But Tommy knew that face like he knew his own. That was Tubbo standing there. 

Tommy stares at him for a very long moment, his heart leaping up into his throat as his mouth hangs open. 

Carefully, without taking his eyes off Tubbo he pulls out the compass and glances down at it. 

Sure enough, the needle is pointing right at him. 

Tommy stands up, brushing off his hands as best he could and suddenly feeling a little self-conscious that he was covered in dirt and hadn’t taken a shower in probably a week. Tubbo is standing there no longer in his presidential suit but a soft sweater that Tommy remembers from years ago. He looks exhausted and so much older. 

Its weird how much two years can change two people to the point where they’re almost unrecognizable. Tommy was sixteen when he left, and now he’s eighteen. Tubbo’s almost nineteen. They’re practically adults now, but still just children doing their best to survive in a world that never wanted them. 

“Tubbo?” Tommy whispers, taking a step forwards. Was he hallucinating? There was no way he was here, not after all this time. Tommy had made his peace with never seeing any of his friends ever again, let alone his best friend. 

“Tommy?” Tubbo responds and its the first time Tommy’s heard someone's voice in so long. Before he even realizes it hes grinning, tears filling his eyes but he blinks them away. Tubbo looks about ready to cry as well. 

“Hi,” Tommy grins at him, and it’s like a spells broken between them. Tubbo takes off running and Tommy meets him halfway. Within a couple of seconds Tommy’s got an armful of the boy he never thought he’d see as well. But he was here, firm and real and not a figment of his imagination. He was warm and Tommy was aware that he was getting him horribly dirty but he didn’t care. 

“Tommy,” Tubbo says again and he sounds like he’s crying and Tommy realizes that he is too. 

You’re never truly aware of how much you miss something until it comes back and you wonder how in the world you have lived without it for so long. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tubbo sobs and Tommy holds him tighter. He’s taller than when Tommy last saw him, but so is Tommy so he guesses its still okay. If Tubbo was taller than him he thinks the world would explode. “I shouldn't have exiled you, I’ve missed you so much. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” He admits, because he’s thought long and hard about everything that has happened. He isn’t sorry for trying to be a kid. He deserved that. But he should have seen the signs of Tubbo’s stress and done more to stop it. 

They both had regrets, and those would probably never go away. But Tubbo was here, Tommy finally had his other half back, and he thinks that those regrets would simmer into nothing if they gave it enough time. 

After a couple more minutes of just sobbing into each others arms, Tommy finally pulls away and grins at him. Tubbo’s face is streaked with tears and he has obvious bags under his eyes, but he looks healthy enough. He isn’t hurt. He’s alive and hes here. Tommy could scream in joy. 

“This is a bit out of your way isn’t it?” Tommy remarks, stepping back. Tubbo let’s out what almost sounds like a whine and reaches out, grabbing Tommy’s hand. 

It’s weird, talking to someone and touching them. Tommy hasn’t felt another humans touch in years. It’s nice. He forgot how much he missed it. He grips onto Tubbo’s hand like he will disappear when he lets go. For all Tommy knows he might. 

“We uh,” Tubbo looks a little embarrassed, his eyes darting around Tommy’s face as if taking him in still. “A traveler came by a village I was in a while ago and I heard him mention some blond kid living in the middle of a forest that bothered him, and I don’t know, I had to know if it was you or not.” 

“I remember that dude,” Tommy’s grinning again, and it kind of hurts his face a bit. “I stole his alpaca’s clothing and paraded around in it and shit. It was hilarious.” 

Tubbo’s grinning too, and he shook his head, his eyes falling shut. 

“I really missed you man,” Tubbo says again, his voice cracking slightly. “You disappeared without a word and it’s been so long. I didn’t think I would ever find you again. It’s nice to know you’re not dead.” 

“The middle of nowhere is a good place to hide,” Tommy shrugs. “I missed you too.” He adds it as an afterthought, not because he didn’t actually miss him but because Tommy had forgotten that he actually needed to voice those things out loud when talking to people. 

“Oh!” He gasps, squeezing Tubbo’s hand tighter. “You have to come see my house, it’s so epic.” 

He’s pulling his friend towards the jungle, patting Harold’s head as he passes. Clara follows behind him, eyes narrowed at Tubbo but seeming to relax since Tommy didn’t seem alarmed. 

“It’s a treehouse!” He says, pointing up at it. “Four floors man. Took me ages to build and it’s a bit hard to get up but you’re short enough that you’ll fit through easy enough I think.” 

It’s a bit funny he thinks, how easy he falls back into rambling with his friend beside him, and how Tubbo seems content to sit there and only interject at moments, amused by Tommy’s antics. They climb up and Tommy shows off his creation proudly, pointing out all the best parts. 

“The first floors just a kind of hang out area, ignore that stain over there one of the birds knocked over my melon slices and got it everywhere, the little shit. The second floor has the kitchen and dining room, it’s pretty fucking epic. Maybe I’ll make you cookies, there’s so much cocoa powder in these parts. The third is the chest room, and the last ones my room, and you can probably bunk there with me or I can clear up the chest room for you if you wanted some more privacy and-“

He stops himself, his expression faltering a bit. He didn’t ask if Tubbo was going to stay. Tubbo probably just came to figure out if he was dead or not, he probably had to get back to L’Manburg as soon as possible. His responsibility always came first. Tommy remembers that much.

“I mean,” Tommy stumbles over his words. “That’s if you want to of course, I know you probably have to head back soon but it’s a long trip and I just thought that maybe you’d like to rest up before you go and stuff like that but it doesn’t matter that much-“

“Tommy,” Tubbo cuts him off and when Tommy turns to him he’s grinning. “I want to stay.”

“Really?” Tommy lights up a bit, smiling wider. “But what about L’Manburg? Don’t you have responsibilities and shit?” 

Tubbo shrugged, rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

“I’m not president anymore, there was an election coming up again soon I think. And uh, there’s not much left of L’Manburg.” 

“What?” Tommy asks, a feeling of dread pooling in his stomach. “What happened? Is everyone okay?” 

“Everyone fine!” Tubbo’s quick to reassure him. “People just moved on. We had a bit of a fight with Dream and his friends a while ago, but no one got hurt and it was solved. It’s just, I don’t know. You were kind of the heart of L’Manburg, when you went missing people just kind of drifted. Built houses other places. It’s mostly just used to meet up and catch up these days. It’s been a long time Toms.” 

“Yeah,” Tommy looked down, sighing to himself. “It has.” 

They sit in silence for a long time, staring out the window at the trees around them and reflecting on how much has changed. So much could change in two years. People could drift apart, nations could crumble, people could become happy again. 

“But I’d like to stay,” Tubbo says again. “I came here looking for you Tommy, it’s been over two years and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” 

Tubbo sounded so sure of himself, his face set in determination when Tommy looked over at him with a small smile. 

“Good,” Tommy admits. “You better get used to the animals though, they don’t go away, I’ve tried. Oh! I can show you the bee farm tomorrow too! You’ll love it, there’s so many of them. And I can introduce you to all my pets, and farming will be so much easier with two hands.” 

Tommy grins at his friend, their hands still entwined as the two of them planned for the future. 

Tommy chose loneliness. He chose to come out here after his exile in order to take life back into his own hands. And now? Now he didn’t have to choose it anymore. He didn’t have to be lonely anymore. 

His best friend was back, and maybe one day they’d go back to L’Manburg to see everyone else for a bit. Who knows. The future had so much in store and Tommy was willing to face it head on.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you guys think!! I couldn't end it without any good Tubbo and Tommy reuniting scenes, their friendship just makes me so happy. I honestly might write more in this universe with like more characters or just more Tubbo and Tommy bonding but I'm still just thinking about it. Please feel free to leave some comments below, I love hearing what y'all think!! Thank you for reading!! <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [through the grape vine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370715) by [Chaotic_Bitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaotic_Bitch/pseuds/Chaotic_Bitch)




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